


Of Teasing and Leather

by TwentyFirstCenturyJane



Category: Psych
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwentyFirstCenturyJane/pseuds/TwentyFirstCenturyJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Shawn is distracted, and Lassie is unknowingly sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Teasing and Leather

 

So it isn't that Shawn doesn’t like a little teasing.

Seriously, it’s what their relationship is built on. Him using his “visions” to touch as much of the sexiest Head Detective this side of the Mason Dixon as possible; especially in public. (They haven’t gotten to private touching yet, but he’s trying his damndest.) He rubs against him, gets his hands on those hips, the biceps, lets his fingers trail teasingly over tense lips or hell, when he feels particularly desperate, he’ll drop right into Lassie’s lap.

Teasing is their thing.

Except Shawn does the teasing and Lassie suffers through it. Not _this_.

This is maddeningly unfair, Lassie has twisted the rules, reversed the roles, and he doesn’t even realize it! Shawn might be able to take it if the man were aware of what he was doing, if he smirked and enjoyed his hold over the younger man because then it would be a thing, would be Lassie flirting back. (And God has he wanted that ever since Lassie had pressed him against the car on their very first case, heavy breathing and warm muscle and the scent of Old Spice.) But it isn’t that at all, it’s Lassie going about his day, completely ignorant of the pseudo-psychic’s presence, let alone just how goddamn turned on he is.

It’s part of Lassie’s appeal, this utter ignorance of his sexiness, mostly because then he remains Shawn’s, because when Lassie is oblivious, he doesn’t see that the new desk sergeant is a pretty red head with a crush on the Head Detective that rivals Shawn’s own and that suits Shawn just fine, cause Lassie is his, he just needs a little more time to make the other man know it. He has no time for rivals.

So the ignorance of the sex appeal makes him even sexier, Shawn likes it. Likes it a lot, but when that ignorance becomes teasing, it stops being fun.

And it starts being rather uncomfortable for Shawn’s lower anatomy, which has decided that the teasing works.

Noticing everything is his gift, and his curse. Because Lassie has gotten rid of his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, his sinewy forearms on display, and Shawn is ridiculously aware of how long it’s been since he’s had sex of any kind that forearms of all things are getting to him; but then he gets an image of Lassie’s muscled arms holding him down, tearing off his clothes…one day his imagination is going to get him in trouble.

And it isn’t just the forearms, it’s that Lassie just has to be old school and wear a shoulder holster, dark leather against the crisp white of his shirt, tight and warm and smooth, defining shoulders and biceps and sweet baby J how has Shawn gone this long without doing anything more than flirt with this man?

His mouth is watering over the idea of Lassie, in nothing but that holster, on top of him, holding him down, making him squirm with dark twists of his tongue and fingers. He figures he was bound to snap someday, and that it took him this long is, quite frankly, a miracle, so he doesn’t reproach himself all that much when he leaves the bench that Lassie had made him promise to stay on and grab a hold of one of those tempting forearms and drag the lanky detective off to interrogation room one, with much less noise than he’d expected.

“Spencer what the hell is going on?”

He sounds indignant, but his bright blue eyes have gone dark and he licks his lips without conscious thought. Shawn smiles, because _finally_ , and leans in, kisses Lassie like he was made for it, attacks his lips with all the skill and fervor he can summon when his brain is leaking out of his ears. Lassie gasps, but doesn’t try to get away and Shawn presses forward, deepens the kiss, growls faintly at the whimper that comes up from the taller man’s throat.

Shawn’s shirt is gone and Lassie’s is unbuttoned when they finally break for air, and Lassie looks properly debauched, lips swollen and red, hair mussed, pupils blown. He reaches up, faintly trembling fingers, and Shawn closes his hands around the other man’s, pauses his movements.

“Leave the holster on.”

Lassie’s eyebrow jumps in tandem with Shawn’s dick and he smiles, low and dirty and full of filthy promises.

“Yeah…yeah,” it’s breathless and Shawn fits his lips over the sound, swallows it down, and presses closer.

Lassie always was his, after all.


End file.
